


day one

by seekingsquake



Series: i just want to say that you're mine, you're mine [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff without Plot, Friends to Husbands, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:58:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5043949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekingsquake/pseuds/seekingsquake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of the first twenty four hours of married life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	day one

**Author's Note:**

> All characters are property of Marvel, I don't own anything.  
> Please do not repost or reupload this piece anywhere without consent. If you ask, I'm sure we can work something out.

On the jet, Tony literally won’t stop touching him. Hands are everywhere, not prodding, not possessive, just there, just holding and petting and-- “You don’t think this is a stupid idea?” Tony’s eyebrow is cocked and he’s looking anywhere that isn’t Bruce, but his hand is still playing with the curls at the base of Bruce’s skull.

They don’t have to get married tonight. They could turn the jet around right now, go back to the tower, and pretend that tonight never happened. They could go to Vegas and just bum around, gambling and catching shows, wander the Strip and have some fun before heading back to the Tower and pretending that it was just a tiny break from the pressures of being who they are. Or they could do what they both want to. They could go through with it. So Bruce shrugs. “Maybe,” he murmurs as he presses back into Tony’s touch. “But there’s nothing inherently wrong with stupid. Stupid can be fun. Doesn’t being smart all the time get tiresome?”

Feelings are hard. They’re getting married after almost two years of fucking, three years of being best friends, and never once in that period of time have they ever really talked about feelings. Bruce doesn’t know if Tony loves him. Bruce knows that Tony’s proposed to multiple people, and was even married once-- while he was drunk in Vegas, no less-- and that before tonight, Tony’s never shown any interest in wanting commitment from him.

But Bruce isn’t sure any of that actually matters.

The thing is, Tony wakes up in a cold sweat, shaking and choking on memories of caves and wormholes more nights than he doesn’t. And while he was with Pepper he used to sneak back into the workshop after such nights, but now, when he’s in Bruce’s bed, he stays. He burrows under Bruce’s arm, wraps the blanket tighter around them both, and he lets Bruce ease him back to sleep. The thing is, sometimes Bruce feels overwhelming fear out of completely nowhere, feels like he’s being watched and hunted. He’ll pack a bag and go to leave because he can’t be caught again, he _can’t_ , but then Tony will show up and just hold on to him, and the fear ebbs away. As if one man could take on an army. As if Tony could protect him from the whole world. The thing is that they take care of each other, subtly but constantly, without words, every day.

They’ve never said it. Maybe they never will. Maybe it doesn’t make a difference. Not to Bruce. Not when he chokes on his love for Tony Stark every time they’re together.

Tony grins. “I like this risky side of you, Banner. Reckless, dangerous. Hot.”

When they kiss it’s forceful and heated and full of promise.

Tonight the jet is staffed by only the pilot and the flight attendant, and all SI employees are paid handsomely to keep their mouths shut and their cameras put away, but Bruce is pretty sure that the flight attendant is snapping pictures. “She gonna sell us out?” Bruce asks quietly.

Tony shrugs. “Does it matter? The tabloids are gonna catch this sooner rather than later.”

Bruce laughs, noses around the underside of Tony’s jaw, and almost climbs right into Tony’s lap. He’s not usually like this, doesn’t usually fight for Tony’s attention or demand to be in Tony’s space, but he’s just so happy. They’re getting married. After all this time, after years of wanting more, they’re getting married. He can’t remember ever being this happy. “Don’t you think that your friends should find out before TMZ does? You know, Pepper? Jim? The team?”

And Tony says, “Hey, I thought we weren’t being smart tonight,” and that’s the end of that.

* * *

They drive by six chapels before they find one that doesn’t have an Elvis behind the counter, and they get cheap rings out of a vending machine in the lobby. They exchange a very basic set of vows, kiss, sign some paperwork, and Tony has to run into the street to find witnesses to sign because apparently they’re the only people getting married at six am on a Tuesday.

He comes back with a hooker and an Elvis.

When everything is finished with, Tony hustles Bruce to the nearest diner and they get breakfast. Tony gets something called The Lumberjack. It comes with bacon, sausage, eggs, hash browns, and pancakes. Everything is smothered in syrup and fried and it’s so much terrible food, but it smells delicious and Tony salivates. Bruce gets the eggs florentine, a bowl of fruit, and a mimosa, and Tony laughs.

“Who woulda thought it’d be you having alcohol with breakfast, hm?”

“Shut up. I’m celebrating.”

It’s a good day. Warm but overcast, and Tony’s never looked at him so tenderly before. When he talks, his vending machine ring catches the light, and though Tony said that they’d get real ones when they get back to New York, Bruce thinks he’ll keep these ones too. These are the ones they got married with, and they shouldn’t just be discarded just because they’re plastic.

Bruce thinks back to college, to Betty buying him a candy ring in an arcade and laughing when he refused to eat it. He’s always been sentimental, always loved hard and fast and deeply. He looks at Tony now, and he reaches across the table to grab his left hand. He brings the hand up to his face, kisses where the ring sits on Tony’s finger, and just holds them there like that for a moment. When he looks up, Tony’s eyes are dark with desire and affection and wonder.

“Get me out of here,” Bruce murmurs lowly, and Tony jumps into action.

* * *

The suite is ridiculous. Everything is ultra luxurious, the views will be gorgeous at night, and the jacuzzi tub is just begging to be soaked in. They have no bags, no changes of clothes, and nothing planned. Bruce has no idea how long Tony plans on staying here, if he’s having things brought out to them or if they’re going to go shopping later. But he really doesn’t care.

“This is excessive,” he says, but for once it’s not a complaint.

Tony laughs. “Only the best for my...” His voice catches and there’s a long pause. And then, “Shit. Only the best for my husband. Holy shit.”

“Is it only just hitting you now?”

But instead of responding, Tony just kisses him. Tony has kissed him literally hundreds of times since they’ve known each other, but it’s never been quite like this. This is vulnerable, open, precious. Bruce used to dream about kisses like this, used to think that this was what all those kisses in movies and romance novels and Disney stories were promising. Tony is no prince, but he is a hero, and this is more than Bruce could have ever wanted. More than he ever dared to hope for.

“Kiss me again.”

This time there’s urgency, need, and they’re both burning up with it. But even this is different, because where Tony usually pulls and shoves and rips at clothing, as if shirts and underwear personally offend him, now he slowly slides everything off Bruce in a show of soft sensuality that leaves Bruce reeling. The anticipation is thrumming through him and he feels like he might burst with it, but the tender touches and soft caresses and Tony’s patience and sudden desire for slow exploration are better. The feeling of being cherished is better. And when Tony finally gets him up on his back on the bed, well, that’s better too.

* * *

It’s dark when Tony stumbles out of bed and Bruce figured right, the view at night is gorgeous. He lies there, stretching his arms over his head, rolling his hips and back, and groaning as things crack and pop into place and his muscles flex. Tony won’t admit it, but Bruce is not ashamed to say that he’s too old for sex marathons.

Good thing he’s never going to have another wedding night. Day. Whatever.

He perks when he hears the hard gush of water running, but he doesn’t move to get up until Tony calls for him. “Babe. Get in the damn bath. I wanna wash your hair.” It’s maybe a strange sentiment, but when they were only friends who slept together sometimes there were things that they just didn’t do. Bruce used to fantasize about bathing with Tony, getting him under the spray of a showerhead or sitting back to chest with him in a tub, quiet and sleepy and warm. Occasionally it would be a point of contention between them; Bruce wanted the intimacy but not to be tied to anything, wanted Tony as more than the casual fuck and friendship thing they had going but didn’t want to admit to things like love, and Tony didn’t understand how Bruce could justify sucking his dick in a coat closet at a gala but not showering together in their own damn home. But now, for Tony to run a bath and for nothing to be dampened by tension or a non-verbal argument, it’s almost surreal.

And huh. _Babe_. Tony’s never called him that before.

“Are you coming or what? I even pulled out some candles to be romantic.”

“Where did you get candles from?” Bruce crawls to the end of the bed before getting to his feet. There’s a fluffy bathrobe on the floor, half under the bed, that he could pick up and put on, but he’s only going to the bathroom to get into the tub so he doesn’t bother. He can smell some sort of flowery fragrance and see dim, flickering lights before he even enters the room, and when he finally gets there he realizes that the tile floor is heated.

Tony has indeed lit candles, and the jets in the tub are off so the water is still. “There’s rose scented bath oil,” he supplies, followed by, “Bruce. This is the Honeymoon Suite. There are candles in every drawer in this place.” He’s already in the water, and there’s a bottle of wine on the floor by where his hand is draped over the lip of the tub. He’s already got a loofah all soaped up and ready to go. “C’mere. I want to wash your hair.”

Bruce laughs as he gets in, and he settles with his back against Tony’s chest, Tony’s legs around his hips and bracketing his thighs. The water is hot enough to still be steaming a little but it’s perfect. “You’re going to wash my hair with a loofah?”

“No, I’m going to wash your hair with my hands. Which I will be doing after I wash your back with a loofah. Stop asking questions and let me pamper you, Jesus.”

It’s better than any of the fantasies. They both keep their voices low, their hands gentle, but Tony’s jokes are just as on point as ever and Bruce leans against him and laughs. They don’t drink the wine because Tony hates it and Bruce doesn’t drink, but it doesn’t matter. “Hey,” Tony murmurs at one point. His hair is wet, his fingers are pruney, and he looks just about ready to either go to bed or find a casino. “How’s married life treatin’ ya?”

It’s casual in a way that’s almost natural, almost unconcerned, but there’s anxiety in his eyes that Bruce has spent three years training himself to notice. “‘S been good,” he murmurs back before kissing Tony chastely. It lingers between them for a moment before he adds, “Better than I could have hoped.” It doesn’t matter that they’ve only been married for sixteen hours. It’s been a really wonderful sixteen hours.

* * *

They don’t stay in Vegas very long.

They go to sleep and when they wake up they get on the jet to fly home. Tony’s anxious to get back to the lab and to stir shit up with Pepper and Jim and Steve and the rest of them, and Bruce just wants to look Natasha in the eye. Wants to let her know that he’s grateful for the fact that she prods and meddles and never minds her own business. She’s the only person he ever said the words to. _God, I’m in love with him_ , and he only ever said it once, but once was enough. If she hadn’t have said anything to him at that party, who knows what he would have said to Tony after the proposal. So they don’t stay in Vegas.

Tony very purposefully doesn’t turn on the news or read any of the tabloids yet, but he’ll want to know what people are saying once they touch back down in New York. Bruce doesn’t want to read about Tony’s first marriage, doesn’t want to read anything about how this is Tony’s downward spiral and that he needs to be saved. For some reason, he’s afraid to see Pepper and Steve, afraid to see Jim. They are three very practical people, all of whom he likes and respects very much, and if they’re at all upset or disappointed by the fact that he couldn’t keep his emotions to himself any longer, Bruce doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

Cry, probably. Or at least want to.

“We’ll throw a real party with everyone tomorrow or something. And hey, I know we signed all the paperwork and shit already, but we never talked about the name thing. I can’t really take yours for practical reasons with the company and all, but we could hyphenate or something, or you could take mine if you wanted or whatever.”

For the first time in the past thirty hours, Bruce feels overwhelmed. Like maybe recklessly jumping into being married isn’t a great idea. His throat feels tight and his tongue feels heavy, and he doesn’t know what he says but he says something.

“Bruce? Hey.” And then Tony pulls him close, tucks Bruce under his arm and wraps around him without a thought. “Hey, I got you. What did I tell you, hm? I won’t let you down. Don’t get cold feet on me already.”

There’s something about the way Tony smells that just grounds Bruce, and Tony’s arm around him has always done the trick. The tight feeling is already ebbing away. “I know. I’m not. I just...” He just realizes that maybe it’s weird that he’s told Natasha but never told his husband. That they’ve been fucking for two years and implementing weird rules with each other and having emotional standoffs because of it, and got married, and he’s never said it. He figures Tony deserves to hear it. “I just really love you.”

The thing about Tony is that he’s actually brilliant. Calling him a genius isn’t an exaggeration, even if he’s the only one who says it. So Bruce shouldn’t be surprised when Tony’s face contorts into befuddled amusement, shouldn’t be surprised when the only thing he can come up with to say back is, “I know.” Also shouldn’t be surprised when Tony follows that up with, “And, y’know. Uh... Ditto.”  


End file.
